Learning Curves
by yararebird
Summary: It's a fill-in-the-blanks. Romance? Kinda. It's about healing and forgiving and learning. And curves. Total Kit/Jude. May/December. Funny. Smutty (big fat smut). Short and bittersweety. Canon Compliant. Warnings: Language/Adult Humor/Sexual Situations/Minor Violence (There's a barfight. No for real! A barfight!)


Learning Curves

September, 1973

"Lana Winters. Goddamn." Kit lifted his friend in an embrace. "It's good to fuckin' see ya."

"You, too, Kit," she huffed into his neck. He put her down with an ooph. "I'm sorry I didn't make it to your wedding."

He shrugged. "It's understandable, ya big famous journalist." He cuffed her shoulder. "Allison's really excited to meet ya. Don't get overwhelmed."

Lana laughed, pushing brown locks behind her ear. "If I'm not overwhelmed yet, I won't be anytime soon. The place looks great!"

Kit looked around his property, nodding. "Yeah. We've made some changes since we last saw you."

"I can't wait to catch up."

"Oh my God!" Allison appeared in the doorway, long curls flying. "Lana Winters is at my house!" Kit grinned in a 'told you so' fashion and Lana rolled her eyes at him. "I just watched your special on fraud in the oil industry and it totally blew my mind!"

The petite woman went straight for a warm double handshake. Lana immediately liked her. "Well, I'm glad it made an impact."

"Oh! So impactful! Kit! Why haven't you brought her inside? It's cold out here! Come on, Lana!" She allowed herself to be pulled along by Kit's eager young wife. "The kids and I are makin' homemade pizza."

"And I got beer!" Kit supplied.

Lana looked at him over her shoulder gratefully.

"I can't believe how much Thomas and Julia have grown," Lana murmured quietly. The house was quiet. Kids put to bed. Allison had fallen asleep on the couch. So she and Kit sat at the kitchen table, talking quietly. "And they're really smart, Kit. Really good kids. They're gonna do big things someday."

"Yeah," he agreed. "I'm pretty proud of 'em."

"Allison is wonderful."

"I know." He looked a little sheepish. "She's been amazing, honestly."

"I'm surprised you didn't marry her sooner."

"Eh." He shrugged. "I didn't want to get the kids into anything too soon. You know. Let 'em adjust. They went through a lot pretty young."

"Mmm." She lit a cigarette. Offered Kit one. "True. I forget how close they'd been to Sister Jude."

Kit looked away. "Yeah. It was a loss to adjust to fer all of us."

Lana detected some small lingering pain. She changed the subject. "So. Do I get to see wedding pictures, or what?"

Kit grinned widely. "Come on."

In the guest room - her room for the night - he pulled a big brown box from the top of the closet. A smaller one fell, spilling Polaroids. Kit quickly shoved them into a pile with his foot. He plopped the large box on the bed and flipped the lid off. "They're kinda all over the place. Lots of people took pictures and game 'em to us. Better than any expensive photographer any day." He tugged out a sizable leather bound album. "Here it is. Kit and Allison. And all their drunk friends."

"Yeeesss," Lana hissed, cracking the volume. She was ever the journalist, picking up on the subtleties in each image. "The kids look so happy," she commented. "You do, too."

"I was." He nodded. "I am, actually. Still."

"I'm so happy for you, Kit." She closed the volume, noticed more pictures in the box. "Can I see these?"

"Sure." He smirked. "Ya might see a familiar face."

Lana grabbed a handful. Some Polaroids, some not. "Cutest kids ever," she said, discarding them on the bed one by one. "So lucky, Kit. Oh!" She paused on one picture. "I see what you mean." Surprise widened her eyes and she shook her head in disbelief. "Wow. I can't believe that's Sister Jude."

He looked over her hands. "Yep. That's her. There's lots of 'em."

Lana lingered on the image. Sister Jude - no. This was not Sister Jude. This woman - this smiling, laughing, golden-haired beauty - was Judy Martin. She was lounging on the front porch swing in this picture, Julia blowing bubbles beside her. What struck Lana most was the genuine ease of this woman. No longer the domineering nun, this was a carefree soul in a light blue sundress, stroking Julia's head lovingly. "She um...She had some killer legs."

The comment completely unbidden. They both laughed suddenly and Lana was surprised again to see Kit blushing a bit. "Yeah," he agreed. "I guess she did."

"Damn." Lana shook her head, smiling. More pictures of the kids. More pictures of Judy. Judy and the kids. The four of them together, looking almost familial. Looking genuinely _happy._ And a few pictures of Kit and Jude, obviously self-taken as Kit's arm was in frame. Their faces close together. Smiling. Laughing.

Kit didn't look at the pictures. He mostly stared into his lap quietly. Lana began to get the journalist itch. She began to want to _delve_...but for what exactly she wasn't certain. "Hey," Kit spoke suddenly. "I'm gonna put up those leftovers and grab another beer. Want one?"

"Mmm." She considered. "Actually, if you're really wanting to catch up some more, I could handle a coffee?"

"I can do that." He slid off the bed. "I'm gonna carry Allison to bed, too. I'll be right back."

"Sure." Lana went back to flipping through pictures. She waited to hear the sounds of Kit in the kitchen. The water running. Refrigerator door. Swiftly, she sprung. Scooped the spilled pictures from the closet floor into their smaller box and tucked them close beside her on the bed. She checked to make sure the coast was clear again and dug in.

There were tape marks on this box. Seals broken and resealed. She trailed her fingers over the sticky residue, and flipped a Polaroid. A small gasp hidden by a sympathetic hand.

Definitely the secret Judy Martin box.

This was _not_ Sister Jude in a men's shirt, one leg cocked up beside her at the kitchen table, smoking. Blonde curls spilling a tousled mess down her back. Looking at the camera bemusedly.

 _Not_ Sister Jude in a rumpled bed, sunlight spilling through a window, wrapped in white sheet and seemingly nothing else. On her stomach, propped on her elbows, smooth legs kicked up behind her. A very satisfied smile and warm brown eyes creased in joy.

 _Not_ Sister Jude in a liquid silk red dress, skirt swirling, holding strappy red shoes in mid-twirl, head down, hair a golden waterfall.

"You want cream and sugar?" Kit asked from the doorway.

She glanced up and covered her guilt. "Please."

He disappeared again and she set aside a few of the incriminating pictures. No secrets from Lana Winters, she thought. He'd said he wanted to catch up, after all. She looked into her hands to see Judy close up. A hint of creamy cleavage in a soft, cotton robe. Shoulders disappearing out of frame. Eyes half closed. One finger obscuring a corner of the picture, obviously reaching for the offending lens. A picture of a woman on a lap…

Kit steadied a tray on the bed, resumed his Indian position and sipped his coffee. "Not done yet?" He asked. Lana leaned over the smaller box, hiding it for the moment as she fixed her coffee.

"Lots of pictures."

He took a deep breath. "Yeah. The kids and I kinda got into photography when Thomas won that Polaroid camera at some fair." He chuckled. "Lots of blurry butterflies and muddy faces."

"Lots of Jude," she said quietly.

Kit cleared his throat. "Yeah. I told ya. They really loved her."

"And you?" She sipped her own coffee.

Kit looked up, considering. Avoiding her eyes. "We got pretty close, yeah."

"How close?"

His forehead creased uncomfortably. "What do you mean, Lana?"

"This close?" She flicked the Polaroid in her hand to face him? A brow demanding honesty. Demanding full disclosure.

He stared at the photo for a moment. Slowly, reached to pluck it from her grasp. Reverence. He glanced finally at the box tucked beneath her knee. "Ya didn't have ta snoop," he murmured. "I woulda told ya."

"No, you wouldn't have." He shrugged. Fingers brushed over the picture in his palm. "You...were intimate with Jude."

He nodded. Swallowed some emotion. "It was...quick. She - she got sick so fast."

"Too fast."

"Too fast for me, yeah." He rubbed his head. "I wouldn't expect ya to understand."

"I can't decide which pictures have more happiness." Lana brandished one of Jude and Kit from the secret box. Another self-taken. This time by Jude, it seemed. Cuddled close together in pillows, him blowing a shank of her hair from his mouth, grinning.

"I'm happy in all of 'em, Lana. Just...different kinds of happy."

Lana nodded. "You two...healed each other."

"I think so."

"She certainly looks happy, too."

"I hope she was." More certainty. "She was."

"Does Allison know?"

"No." Kit flipped through a few of the secret pictures himself. "Nobody knows. And they never will." He gave her a firm look. "Jude wanted it that way."

Lana raised her hands in surrender. "It's safe with me, Kit. I promise." He accepted her word. She studied a few more of the pictures, too, still not quite believing. "Will you...can you tell me...how?"

Kit chuffed a soft laugh."Lana, I know you're gay, but -"

"You know what I mean!" She grinned, smacking his leg.

He thought for a moment. Spoke deliberately. "D'you ever remember seeing Sister Jude smile?"

"No." A quick answer.

"I do." Kit defended. "The first time she smiled at me...it was this sick smirk. This twisted curve. Terrifying."

Here, Lana conceded. "Okay. Wait. I do actually recall a few of those."

"I told you years ago that I brought Jude here because I wanted to forgive her somehow. Wanted to erase Briarcliff somehow. I needed to erase that twisted curve. Replace it with somethin' bettah. Some other kinda curve."

Lana smiled teasingly, flicking another picture. "Looks like she had a lot of curves to choose from."

He smiled back, flushed, snatching the picture. "She was an amazing woman. Believe it or not."

"Oh, I believe it!" Lana looked at another picture. Another of Kit's shirts. Long legs. Grinning at the stove, egg in one hand and whisk in the other. "I would like to have known this Jude."

"I think you would have." He picked up a few more pictures.

Lana watched him, saw the reminiscence flooding. "So tell me about her. Tell me...about you two. Tell me..." She gestured to the homage of Jude spread around them. "Tell me how _this_ started."

Kit closed his eyes again, and let the memories drape like warm arms. He could almost hear her whispering in his ear. _Go ahead. Tell Lana Banana. She wants the scoop..._

April, 1971

Kit stomped his boots on the mat before entering his house. Grease, dirt and brake dust clung to the rough mat, and he officially left his work week behind. "I'm home!" He announced unnecessarily. The stomping had made his arrival quite evident.

Immediately his mouth watered. Something was cooking - probably something delicious. He grinned into the kitchen, bending to unlace his still dirty boots. Jude turned away from the stove, grinning back. "Did you bring bread?" She asked.

He reached into his back pocket and presented a wrapped French loaf with a flourish. "I aim to please."

She met him halfway across the threshold, wiping her hands on a baby blue apron. Her forehead creased. "Where are the babies?" She took the loaf, looking past him, searching. It still warmed his heart that she called them babies. Thomas was Julia were nearly 6 now. But if Judy Martin had ever wanted babies, whatever her life may have been, she never had them. So...now - he supposed - she did.

He unzipped his coveralls, hung them on a hook by the door. "Mrs. Whaley picked them up from school today. They're staying with her brood this weekend. Going to some festival."

"Oh." She was endearingly disappointed. "Well, then…"

"Yeah. Well, then." He brushed past her into the kitchen, the temptation to kiss her forehead or cheek or...ignored for the moment. As usual. "What's for dinner? Smells fuckin' great."

"Chicken Marsala." She flipped a breast in the sautee pan. "Got some nice fresh portobellos at Rush's yesterday and finally decided what to do with 'em." She looked at him squarely. "Beer in the fridge."

"Beautiful," he said. He meant the beer, not her. Although she was. Suddenly, somehow surreptitiously, Sister Jude had become Judy. Pretty. Golden-haired. Pink cheeked. Brown from the sun. Built like a brick shithouse. He chuckled at his own thoughts. _Old enough to be my mother._ He snapped the beer neck neatly against the counter. The lid tinkled on the formica. "You want one?"

She shook her head. "Na. I'm in the damned wine."

"There was wine?!" He saw it by the sink, reached for it. A white. She slapped his hand, laughing.

"Leave it! I use it for cooking!"

"Cooking. Right." He laughed, too. "No wonder your cheeks are so pink!"

She touched at her face self-consciously. "That's from the stove."

"Blame the stove." He drank. The beer was cold. Good. He watched her flip some knobs on the stove, stir a pot of pasta. "Got plans tonight?"

She paused during transferring the pasta to a strainer in the sink, stared at him through steam, an entirely Jude-like nonplussed expression. "Thought I'd march on Washington for higher wages for women."

He shrugged. "Good luck with that."

She dumped the pasta. Rinsed it. "I was gonna sew with Thomas after dinner. Curtains for that death trap tree house you insisted on building them."

He glanced out the window over the sink, over her bared shoulder. She probably didn't notice her dress had slipped. Probably didn't notice the mild spring chill over the kitchen's heat. "If uh - if Thomas is sewing curtains, what's Julia doin'?"

Jude's turn to shrug. "I dunno. She finished splitting that cord of wood yester-"

"Julia's splitting wood?!" His eyes widened. "Like with an axe?"

"Well, what the hell else is she supposed to use?" She opened the cabinet over the drain board, pulling down dishes.

"Christ, Jude! She could hurt herself!" He wasn't _really_ concerned, per se.

"Don't take the good Lord's name in vain, Kit Walker!" She turned, leveled a wooden spoon at him. "For fuck's sake."

"Sorry!" He backed away, hands raised in surrender. "Sorry." But he was smiling. So was she. Ex-nuns had wicked senses of humor. "I'm gonna shower. Change clothes. And eat your delicious dinner." He tossed his empty beer bottle into the garbage. "In the name of the good Lord."

She tisked. "Just get out my kitchen."

He stopped by his bed on the way to the bathroom. Retrieved a box from underneath it. He'd held onto it since Wednesday. He left it on the bed and undressed. Clothes into the hamper. Jude insisted. He started the shower. It took a minute for the water to heat up, so he scratched his ass and looked in the mirror. _Need a shave._ Switched out his razor blade.

There was a little mirror on the shower pipe. He adjusted it and set to work, humming. He was nearly out of shampoo. "Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific!" The kids loved it. He couldn't give a damn, but Jude's hair always smelled nice. Not that he noticed. Just during dancing lessons after the kids' homework. And when she picked up his plate. Or bent to arrange the magazines by his chair. Maybe more often lately.

She'd been with them since late February. It was early April now. The first few weeks had been pure hell for all of them, but now… He couldn't imagine life without the woman. Despite the fact he still had scars on his ass from her canings. That was just a different Jude. A different life. _Fucking Briarcliff._

Not that after Briarcliff had been much better. Two beautiful children, yeah, but two dead mothers in the process. And more Briarcliff in the meantime, while Alma wasted away there. He closed his eyes and leaned into the shower spray. _But I did find Jude there. The real Jude. And I damn well saved her._

He hissed slapping on the astringent aftershave. Dressed nicely. A crisp blue button-up and clean trousers. What the kids called his "church shoes" (even though they never went to church).

Jude noticed immediately. Eyed him with great suspicion as he sat to the table in the eat-in kitchen. But she didn't say anything. For the moment. Dinner was served.

"This looks fucking amazing." He picked up his fork, ready to dig in.

"Ahem." Feminine fingers stopped his hand. "Would you like to say the blessing?" An elegant arched brow.

He lowered his fork. Tradition. "Sorry. Yeah." Cleared his throat. Jude bowed her head. He bowed his. "The blessing," he intoned somberly. Usually Julia's or Thomas' job.

"Thank you!" She chimed.

They ate in silence until Kit couldn't stand it anymore. "Holy shit, Jude, this is really good."

She smiled in that way that belied her true pleasure. She enjoyed cooking. And she enjoyed pleasing. "Thank you." She feigned disinterest for a while longer, swirling spaghetti noodles onto her fork. "You uh - got a date tonight?"

He hid a smirk. "Maybe."

"Hm." She shrugged. "Not that questionable gal from the diner by your work?"

"Tammy? What's wrong with Tammy?"

"She's been in more laps than this napkin." She held her napkin up for example.

"That's harsh."

"That's truth."

It _was_ true. Tammy got around a bit. She'd been keen on Kit for a while there, always coming by with some horrible cookies or something. Kit wasn't interested. Seeing his children and Jude such a united front against the encroacher had led him to subtly re-direct her attentions. "Not Tammy."

"Thank the Virgin." Jude helped herself to another slice of bread. "Oh, hell. Not that gal from the bank?"

"Which one?" He was really enjoying this.

"The one with the lazy eye?" Jude gestured amorphously. "Cheryl?"

"Shirley."

"What the fuck ever."

He took another slice of bread, too. She flipped the towel back over the basket to keep them warm. "Not Shirley."

"She has the personality of this pasta."

He laughed aloud. "Agreed." Sobered. Watched her butter her bread. "Jude."

"Hm?"

"Will ya go out with me tonight?"

She froze charmingly. Stared at two mushrooms on her plate that stared back. "Huh?"

He put his palms down on the table. "I thought it'd be nice to go out tonight. Tyler's band is playin' at The Hooch and they sound really good. They play swing and -"

"The Hooch?" She interrupted.

"It's a nice place!" He defended.

She resumed chewing. He waited. "Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious."

"D'you have a fever?" She was reaching across the table for his forehead.

He grabbed her hand, stopping it. "Jude, come on. You never leave this house unless it's for the market and -"

"Sometimes I go to the bank or the fabric store!"

"Wow. You lead a truly exciting life," he deadpanned. "Let's go get a drink, Jude. At a nice bar with some nice people. They all wanna know who you are, anyway. They're curious about you."

"And how exactly will you introduce me, Kit? Hm?" She pulled her hand from his. "This is the ex-communicated nun who used to beat me senseless in the nut hut and convinced everybody I was a serial killer?"

He pursed his lips. "I was thinking I would just say...like...my friend."

She blinked. Her eyes were afraid. "It's not a good idea."

"It's a really good idea. Jude. Come on." She shook her head, rose to gather plates. He sighed. "I got ya a dress."

She stilled at the sink and turned slowly. "What?"

"It's a really pretty dress."

"Kit…" She rubbed her temples. "Sometimes I wonder what goes on in your head."

Tit for tat, then. "Jude...sometimes I wonder what goes on in your head." He stood and leaned on the table facing her, a little closer. A little taller. "Look. I wanna take you out. Have a few drinks. Maybe dance. Hear my buddy's band play." She was biting her lip. "You love music, Jude."

"How'd you know what size to get?" The question was almost hilarious in its innocuousness.

"I looked on your sewing patterns."

"Oh." She was twisting her apron.

He saw a crack forming. "D'ya wanna see it at least?"

She swallowed. Twisted apron. "Yeah...I reckon."

He went to his bedroom and grabbed the box, muttering. "Fucking stubborn."

"What?" She yelled.

"Nothing!" He yelled back. She'd moved into the living area, closer to his room. "Here." He stopped in front of the couch. She stood behind it, facing him. He set the parcel on the couch back. Hesitantly, she took the box. Opened it just as hesitantly. Kit tapped his foot a little as she unwrapped the tissue paper. Time stopped when she revealed the material.

Something flitted across her face. Sadness? Something… He couldn't quite decipher. Her fingers danced delicately inside the cardboard, fluttering tissue like paper butterflies. Her eyes looked suspiciously wet. "Well?" He prompted softly.

She took a deep breath. "It's silk."

He nodded. "That's what the catalog said."

"You shouldn't have done this, Kit. The babies -"

"Have everything they need." He rocked on his heels. "You see to that, Jude. And everything I need. It'd be nice to do something for you once in a while."

She chuffed sharply. "Saving my sorry life wasn't enough?"

"Don't say that." A tear escaped, slipped over a sculpted cheek bone. He watched it stop on her strong jaw. "You woulda done the same for me."

"Would I?" She met his eyes. A challenge.

"You did for Lana."

She looked back to the dress. "Why red?"

He swallowed heavily. Honestly...he simply thought she'd look diabolical in red. Especially now that there was a little color in her skin. But… "I just wanted something bright for ya. Ya know? Just seems like you're always in these sort of...dusty colors. I dunno." He looked away. "It'll look good with your hair. I guess."

A small, wistful smile. "There was a time…" She trailed off. Deep breath. "I guess I should try it on, then." Pragmatic, she extracted it. He watched the silk fall like blood. It reflected in the deep brown pools of her eyes.

His body sang relief. "So...we're going out?"

She turned on the way to her bedroom. "I didn't say that."

A groan. "Come ooon, Jude!" Petulant. He sounded like Thomas to his own ears. Followed her. "We don't even have to stay long." She shut her door. He took station outside it. "We can even walk there. It's not that far. Nice night, too."

"It's still cold out at night!" She snapped back. Her voice was muffled.

"A walk'll warm us up! Besides, neither one of us is driving back if we drink."

"You trying to get me drunk?" She called.

"Maybe." He chuckled. "I plan to get a little tipsy, myself. Since I don't have to dad tonight." It got quiet in her bedroom. A minute passed. Two. "Jude?"

"What?" Her voice was small.

"Does it fit?" He leaned on the door jamb.

He straightened when her door opened suddenly. A flash of red. The smell of golden curls and gardenia. "Oh!" She'd not expected him to be so close. They each stepped back, Kit taking her in the whole time. She bumped against a side table and stilled. One hand at her bare chest, the other self-consciously touching her hair.

"Jesus Fucking Christ, Jude…"

Head down, she peered up from the floor. Long lashes. If she'd wished, it would have been the epitome of coy. "What?" She whispered.

He tilted his head. Shapeless black habits. Shabby hospital gowns. Simple straight cotton calicos she favored at home. They couldn't have prepared him for the true shape of the woman. True, he'd seen hints here and there. Watched her cinch her aprons. Seen the curve of long leg when she slipped her shoes on or off. But she was made like a wet dream, really. He was right. _Diabolical._ He licked his lips. "You look...phenomenal."

A full fledged blush. "Thank you." Her hands shifted, primly smoothed silk over hips. Fabulous hips. "You pulled the thesaurus out for that compliment."

"I save up my five dollar words until they're deserved."

"They gain interest that way," she murmured.

"You're gonna gain interest in that dress." He grinned, rubbed a slightly sweaty hand over his face. "Christ…" He repeated.

"That's the second time you've taken His name in vain."

"I think he would understand." He gestured for her to turn for him. She did. "Angels and ministers of grace defend us."

Perhaps it was his appreciation, or the feel of the silk, or the red contrasting the blonde. But she grew a little more comfortable. Swayed a little. "You did a good job on the fit."

"Damn right I did."

Now the smile was openly coy. "I don't really have shoes to do it justice."

He blinked. "Alma had a pair of shoes that will be perfect. They're in the back closet."

"I wouldn't want to overstep any boundaries, Kit."

He shook his head. "Alma's gone, Jude. She'd be happy to see 'em worn." He pulled his eyes up, up from her cleavage. "I'll uh...I'll go get them." He ran from her, basically. Needed a minute to process. The dress was deceptively simple. A red, silk wrap. The skirt flared nicely. Neckline a deep V. Fitted sleeves. He'd known she'd be a knockout, though.

It was what the dress represented that really mattered. Really made him think as he pulled Alma's box out of the top of the closet. Was he really attracted to Jude? Craziest thing… She'd become such a rock to him, such a fixture. Somehow, she'd become more lately.

Watching her read to his kids. Watching her cook, move about the house with such confidence. Watching that simple beauty return to her. She'd filled out, for sure, no longer the skeleton Briarcliff had made her.

It had really started about two weeks earlier. He'd come home late from the shop where he worked. He'd been late with Tyler - rebuilding a transmission. Good money for a rush job. At home, they'd all been asleep in the living room. Jude on the couch, stretched beneath Julia. Thomas (little weirdo) on the floor beside them. Jude's hand rested on the boy's head. A book open on her chest, arm around Julia. In sleep, she was unguarded. Her neck upturned to the light, shadows on her striking face. A shapeless calico dress slipped up by Julia's careless sprawl and Jude's smooth, lovely legs…

He'd stared. Confused. Conflicted. Finally motivated to take Thomas to his bed. He'd come back for Julia. No way to collect her without waking Jude. Buttons had slipped open, again from Julia's restless sleep. There'd been a brief flash of creamy breast, quickly controlled by ever-aware Jude. But the damage was done. He was very much reminded she was a woman.

"Kit?"

Her voice jarred him from his reverie. "Yeah." He slid the box back onto its shelf. She appeared in the darkened doorway, backlit. She crossed her ankles when she leaned against the jamb. She'd done something to her hair, it seemed. Maybe curled it a little. He handed her the strappy black heels. "You can um...adjust these. If they're too snug." Her shapely feet were longer than Alma's.

"Thanks." She didn't move from the door. He waited, rubbing his neck. "I appreciate you takin' me out."

He clapped once, victoriously. "So we're goin' out?!"

She waved him off, nodding resigned. "Yeah, we're goin' out. But you're gonna regret it."

"Life's too short for regrets."

"That's bullshit." She sat on the couch, adjusting the shoes. They fit quite well, actually.

At the door already, Kit slipped on a flannel and grabbed her white sweater.

"You'll catch your death in just those sleeves."

He slid the sweater up her arms, flicked her hair from underneath the heavy collar. Couldn't resist. The golden floss was soft and warm. "It's not that cold. I'll be good."

She turned, eyes sparkling. A real smile. "You better be."

The Hooch _was_ a nice place. Kit could see the moment Jude appreciated it. She gave him a raised brow of approval. "Told ya," he said. "Come on. Let's grab a table before the place fills up."

He hung his jacket on the back of his chair. Draped her sweater across the other. He was not surprised at all to see every pair of male eyes turn their way as she sat primly. "I'm gonna grab a drink, Jude. What can I get ya?"

"Ummm…" She paused, thinking. It'd been a while now since she'd had a drink. A real drink, anyway. "Bourbon. Wet."

"Yeah. Don't start small or anything." He tapped the table before heading to the bar. "Hey, Lou."

"Kit!" Lou set aside the glass he was drying. "Been a while, bud. Where you been?"

Kit shrugged. "Workin."

"Huh." Lou glanced at their table. At Jude. "Workin' on that?" A wink.

Kit blushed hotly. Chose to ignore the implication. "Can I get two bourbons? Wet?"

Lou chuckled as he poured. "I'm sure you're gettin' something wet." Kit took the drinks, continuing to ignore Lou's ribbing. "Good to see ya back!" Lou called after him.

"Thank you." Jude tentatively sipped the golden brown libation. Burned. "Mm. Been a long time," she breathed.

"Long time for what?" Kit asked. He'd been scanning the room for Tyler.

"Long time since I had a bourbon."

The drink was sharp. Kit winced a little. "I could have waited a while longer, personally."

"Why'd you get one, then?" Jude laughed.

"I'm not letting you drink me under the table tonight!"

"Think you can keep up?"

"I think I can handle an ex-nun."

The brow rose. "You don't know this ex-nun."

He was about to challenge the cryptic comment, maybe crack the Book of Jude a little more. Maybe learn something more than her curves. But Tyler had arrived.

"Kit! My man!" Tyler was a tall, solidly built black retired quarterback. His trim suit fit handsomely. He clutched a trombone in one hand, and slapped Kit's back with the other. "I'm glad ya made it!"

"Wouldn't miss it." He didn't miss Tyler's eyeing Jude, either. "This is Jude. Judy." He corrected abruptly.

She caught the correction as she shook Tyler's hand. "Judy! Good to meet ya! I've heard a lot about you from my brother here."

"All lies," Jude replied, grinning. She had an ease with Tyler that was new to kit. "It's a pleasure."

Tyler laughed his great big laugh and grasped her hand tighter. "He was right about your roast beef for sure! If it was a hat, my tongue would beat my brains out to get at it!"

"I'm glad ya enjoyed it. I'll send more lunches to erase the other lies he told!"

"Well, he didn't mention you were such a looker." Tyler winked. "Kept that tidbit to his self."

Jude blushed big this time. Ducked her head. Kit nudged their still-clasped hands. "Hey. Don't you have a song to play?"

Tyler backed off mock-sheepishly. "Calm down, cock of the walk! Your hen's safe." He glanced around. His band mates had taken stage. "From me at least." With a final wink and smile, he left the table.

"Nice guy," Jude said. She was digging in Kit's jacket pocket. Extracted a pack of Pall Malls. Kit deftly lit hers, then his own.

"He's a good friend."

"What'd ya tell him about me?"

Kit shrugged. "That you're a friend who came to live with us. That you're great with my kids. That you cook like some kinda damn demon. That you're teaching us to dance. That -"

"Why'd he call me ya hen?"

Kit struggled. "Jude...see, this is why I wanted you to come out. People make assumptions."

"Well, now he knows I won't be laying any eggs anytime soon."

"Kit!" A woman's voice. He looked over his shoulder and groaned quietly. "Tammy!" He pointedly ignored what he knew was Jude's amused expression. "Good to see ya!"

"Yeah! You, too, handsome!" Tammy's shiny black hair was cinched into a dangerously high ponytail. She side-eyed Jude. "Is this your mom?"

He wondered what his face was doing because he was pretty sure it was disgusted. "No! This is Judy. She's my -"

"Girlfriend." Jude interrupted smoothly. Now, Kit stared at her agape. She stared back and leisurely flicked her cigarette in Tammy's general direction. "Baby, would you fetch me a napkin?"

"Uh, yeah." He was quick to leap. Vibrating internally. Quick to the bar. Back with a stack of drink napkins in time to see a cinematic performance.

"Tammy why don't ya have a seat?" Jude gestured to their empty chair. He gaped harder.

Tammy floundered. "Um." She glanced around. "No, thanks. I'll uh - I'll go find my friends." She was completely floored. "You's have a good time tonight, kay? It was nice meeting you, Judy." The band launched into a slow jazz number and Tammy scampered.

Kit stared at Jude who was leaning her jaw on her hand, still smoking, watching Tammy haul ass. "Really?" He laughed. "Baby? Napkins, Jude?"

She settled her drink on said napkins. "Go on. Put one in your lap. It'll be just like dating Tammy."

Kit rubbed his face. " _That_ was brilliant."

Jude chuckled. "Well, I have a feeling word's gonna spread pretty quick now. Sorry for ruining your bacheloric reputation."

But Kit was grinning. "I like it." Her eyes glimmered. "I feel a lot safer now."

Jude was nodding to the beat. "You're right." She looked at the band. "They're good."

"Yep." Kit drained his bourbon with a hiss. "Come on. Let's dance." He stood, extended a hand.

Jude flustered. "Now? It's a little slow for swing, Kit."

"Then we won't swing." He pulled her up, brooking no further argument. "And call me Baby." He twirled her once, watching her skirt flare, and pulled her against him sharply. Awkwardly, she held her cigarette over his shoulder, slipping it into a couple's ashtray as they glided by. "Sorry," she murmured, laughing.

It was fine, really, feeling her curves this way. He settled a hand just above her hip. They moved smoothly. "You know what?" She asked.

"What?"

"You're better at slow dancing than swing dancing."

"Well, you're my teacher so what does that tell you?"

"That you don't pay attention."

"Hush." He squeezed her hip. "Dance, Judy."

After a moment, she sighed softly against his shoulder. The dance floor was small, and crowded up quickly. Close to the band, Kit caught a wink from Tyler, and Jude said something he couldn't hear. "What was that?" He spoke loudly in her ear.

She replied in his ear. "I said this is nice." He pulled back to see her smiling. "Baby," she added, a jaunty head tilt.

He twirled her slowly, once, and pulled her back a little closer. "Yeah. It's real nice." And it was.

The band finished out their first song with a tinny flourish, breaking the spell of nice. Their tempo flipped immediately and Kit rolled his eyes. Swing. Jude pulled his hand off her hip, giving him a meaningful pout. "Alright, Fred Astaire. Try to keep up!"

She was a remarkable dancer, really. It had made him wonder more than once where a nun learned to move like that. He _did_ have to work to keep up, but he was successful. There wasn't enough room for showy moves, anyway, keeping them quite contained. In fact, they were sweating when Kit finally begged for mercy. "I need a minute!" He yelled.

"A minute?" Jude yelled back. "That's the last thing a woman wants to hear!"

He laughed and steered her toward their table. "Sit." He sat her. Leaned on the table, catching his breath. She was remarkably composed, if a little shiny with sweat. He tried not to notice the drop slipping into her breasts. "Want another?"

"Another dance?"

"Jesus, no! Another drink."

She waved him toward the bar in affirmation. "The same."

Lou saw his two fingers and nodded. Kit watched Jude watch the band, touching her hair back into some semblance of place. In the smoke and the low lights, she looked strangely at home.

"That yours?"

"Huh?" Kit turned toward the stranger's voice. The guy looked vaguely familiar. An older gent in a dapper hat. He nodded toward Jude. "Tammy says that's your bird."

"Yeah, she's with me."

"She's a fine piece." Kit didn't like his tone. Or his open ogling. Or his general breathing. Kit decided quickly he didn't like the guy at all. "Mind if I ask her to dance?"

"Yeah, I mind." He wished Lou would hurry up with their drinks.

Dapper hat laughed, not even looking at Kit, and slapped him once on the back. "Bet she won't mind. You're out of your league with that one, kid. She needs a little more experience, you know?"

"Look, here," Kit started, drawing up. But the hat was gone, moving fast toward their table, toward Jude. "Hey!" Kit yelled.

"Alright, there, Kit?" Lou asked. He slung two bourbons.

"Yeah, I'm good, Lou." He dug in his pocket and dropped cash on the bar, not even counting the bills. He navigated a swath of people as smoothly and quickly as possible, trying not to spill. That fucking guy was at his table, talking to Jude. She caught Kit's eyes, reading his expression. She was obviously declining to dance when Kit reached the table.

"Come on, doll. I can tell you need a real trip." He was schmoozing into Jude's ear. "I can take you on a way better trip than your boy toy over here."

"Why don't you take a trip to Hell?" Jude asked. "And get your goddamned hands off me?"

He rubbed over her shoulder, dangerously close to breast territory. Kit set their glasses down loudly. "The lady said to step off, Mistah." He was uncomfortable with Jude's discomfort and with the looks coming their way. "So I suggest you respect her wishes."

"Or what, kid?" The guy turned to him fully. He wasn't taller than Kit, but definitely beefier.

"Or I'll teach you some manners." Bravado came easy on the bourbon.

Jude stood. "Kit, come on." She took his hand. "Let's dance." She tugged. He looked at her. It was the glance-away the encroacher needed.

"Yeah, let your bird be your boss, ya little pussy. Nobody wants that tired old clown pocket anyway." He gave Kit's shoulder a shove, and all Hell broke loose.

Kit swung. His aim was off, grazing the guy's jaw. His knuckles stung. Nearby tables scattered. A din rose. The band broke into a cacophanous wind-down and Kit vaguely heard Tyler shout, "Kit man, watch out!"

The fucker's aim was better and his fist was fatter and Kit saw stars. He reeled backward, stumbling over a chair. "Kit!" Jude shouted. But a rushing crowd obscured her from his view. There was yelling as he straightened, shaking sense back into his head. People were running. It was like movie night at Briarcliff and he pushed through the madness back toward his attacker. His stomach punch was better landed, but when the beefy bastard doubled over, he wrapped his arm around Kit and they both went down.

The floor was hard and his breath left in a gasp. He'd landed on a broken glass, and felt a piercing scrape. This was all vaguely funny for some reason, and Kit laughed a little spray of blood into the guy's face. The guy was not amused. "You punk piece of shit," he huffed, drawing back.

Kit raised his arms to block, anticipating the knockout punch, but it never came. Instead, there was a splendid crash, a solid crack, and the beef froze, seemed to fall backward in a graceful arc. Blood poured from his busted head, and as Kit dropped his crossed arms, he saw Jude.

She stood over him, one foot at his ear. Smoke swirled around her, weaving between her lean legs. Her chin was up, magnificently framing a heaving chest, and at her side, a broken beer bottle dripped sanguine. She blew a shank of blonde curl out of her face. Kit wrapped a hand around her leg, seeking some kind of purchase, trying unsuccessfully to pull himself up. Her free foot unceremoniously shoved the unconscious dude out of her way and she knelt.

"Kit! Baby!" She cradled his head first, finding no immediate damage, and helped him to his unsteady feet. Shouts and yells all around them. Her fingers flew over his jaw. "Are you alright?"

Time froze. The commotion around them seemed to meld into a dull blur of murmur. "Jude." He put his hands on her shoulders, as much to still her as to gain his footing. "That was the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen."

She blinked. Caught her own breath. "Kit." She put her own hands on his shoulders. "I think we should leave now."

"Kit! What the hell?!" Lou was shouting coming around the bar. Tyler was approaching from the stage. The two men were fighting their way through the now calming sea of crazy. "Shit," Kit grinned. "Let's go."

Jude swirled into her sweater, grabbing Kit's jacket. Kit grabbed their amazingly undisturbed drinks and they sprinted for the door.

Outside, Kit couldn't stop laughing even as they hurried through the parking lot. There was a crowd outside, too, and they manage to stealth their way through it. On the sidewalk at last, hidden by the darkness between lamp posts, they paused.

"What the hell is so fucking funny?" Jude asked. She offered him his jacket, smoothly exchanging for their precious drinks.

"I don't know." Kit shook his head. She was beautifully flustered in a spring breeze. He shrugged into his jacket and took a bourbon. Downed it. Tossed the glass into nearby shrubbery. "Never been in a barfight before," he chuckled.

"I could tell." She downed her bourbon, too, and allowed Kit to dispose of her glass in the same manner. Set pace beside him back to their house.

"But you have," Kit said.

She glanced at him. "I've witnessed a few in my day."

He wondered. "You were good with that bottle."

She shook her head. "Never done that before. I really didn't think it would break!"

"Oh, it broke." He laughed again.

"I thought that only happened in movies."

"Life imitates art."

Finally, she laughed too. Recognizing the ridiculousness of the situation. "I guess so."

"Well, if the cops show up tonight, I guess we can offer them some leftover chicken?"

"That asshole shoved you first. I saw it." She defended him. "Lots of people saw it."

"Self-defense." Kit agreed.

She was quiet and shivering in the chill as the house came into view. "Kit."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for standing up for me like that. I mean, I coulda handled it, but...that was awfully sweet. If a little stupid."

"Well." He unlocked the door. "Thank you for delivering my saving grace."

"That's what nuns are for."

Inside, Kit went to the wood stove and set about starting a fire to lift the unseasonal cold. Jude put the kettle on in the kitchen. "Sit down on the couch," she instructed. "I wanna see to your jaw."

"I think it's alright." It was throbbing. He rubbed it. Removing his jacket, he heard her gasp.

"Jesus, Kit, your back!"

"Huh?" He reached behind himself, felt wetness and a tear. "Oh, that. I think I fell on a broken glass."

"Here." She slid a kitchen chair in front of the wood-burner. "Take your shirt off and sit." He did as she instructed, watched her bustle about. She brought him tea, setting a bowl of hot water on the floor beside him. She'd brought some bandages and a wash cloth. "Lean forward." He sipped tea while she studied his back. "Just a couple cuts. I don't see any glass in there. Thank God."

Her touch was gentle. The water warm. Her body was warm, occasionally brushing against him. He warmed uncomfortably, cleared his throat and ignored the minor erection. Three band-aids later, she let him sit back. "Let's see your face."

The clock ticked. Her face was close to his. She touched at his jaw. "Not broken." He shook his head. "Look at me." He did, tried to avoid eye contact. Her eyes were soft, sweet, concerned. The fire behind them lit her hair into a halo. "Your lip is split." She dabbed it with the cloth. It stung.

"Ow!" He flinched a bit.

She tisked. "You're as bad as Thomas." Smiling. Another dab.

"Yeah, but you always kiss Thomas' booboos." He caught her mid-glance, turned it into a gaze.

She set the cloth aside in the bowl, a swirl of bloody water, on her knees before him. She sighed softly. Whispered. "Kit…"

"What?"

Her hands were on his knees. She shook her head, at a loss. "I don't know what ya want."

"What do you think I want?" He challenged. He had wondered himself, but certainty had dawned on that dancefloor. He wanted curves. Needed them, even. The smile, the hips, the breasts, the legs. The curves of her arms around him.

She shrugged, delicately frustrated. "A mother? A - a lover? Ya make me feel weird, lately."

"Weird how?"

"Crazy." She spoke the word with more firmness.

"Well, I think we're both experts on crazy by now." He nudged her chin up toward him. "I had a mom, Jude. A fine one. I don't have mommy issues."

She was a pragmatic woman. Sensible, but sensory. "Well, I guess that narrows things down, then." She brushed his cut lip with her thumb. Leaned forward. So slowly, so softly, she kissed it. His fingers itched. He let them slide up her arms, up that long neck until he cradled her head. His bottom lip tickled with hers on it. He tilted, and deepened the kiss.

A puff of breath on his face felt moist with unshed tears. He pulled back. Her eyes were closed. "Don't do this to me," she whispered.

"Do what, Jude?"

When her eyes opened, they were glistening. "Don't hurt me."

"I'd never." His thumbs stroked behind her ears and she moaned. It undid him. "Christ, Jude, c'mere." He pulled her up by her arms until she straddled his lap. Now her kiss was more real, more wanton. She tasted like bourbon, felt like sin. When they broke to breathe, he took her neck and she hissed. "Please, God."

"I'm not trying to please God, Jude. Just you." His fingers tugged at the dress' neckline, revealing her simple white bra but trapping her arms.

"I'm praying you'll change your mind." She pressed against him. Nipped at his ear. "Christ, you're so young, Kit." Her nails scraped his sensitive back.

He found the bra's clasp. "I'm not a kid, you know. I've made two babies."

"Making babies isn't making love," she reminded, breathless when he found her bare breasts.

"Then teach me how," he grinned against a piqued nipple, untying the dress wrap.

Jude stilled his hands. "I don't know how, either," she confessed. Biting her lip, she looked at him. There was that fear in her eyes again.

He pulled his hands from hers. The dress pooled on the floor. He stroked her garters, sliding his thumbs underneath them before traveling all the way to her face, cupping. "Then we'll learn together."

She nodded solemnly and he rose, abrupt, lifting her bridal style. "Oh!" She wrapped his neck tightly. "Where we goin'?"

"Bed."

"Makes sense."

He opted for her room. It was closer. She oophed when he dropped her on the mattress, raising onto her elbows to watch him shed his trousers. He wore no underwear, so it was immediately evident that he was more than ready for these activities. "Mary Mother of God," Jude murmured as he crawled over her.

"What?" His hands were exploring, figuring out garter clasps from his station between her trembling thighs.

A sigh turned into a laugh. "Nothin'." She rose to caress him, to do her own exploring. "Just seems they started making these bigger since I last checked." Her hand wrapped his erection and he gasped into her mouth.

"Quit, or this'll be over before it started." His finger was stuck in a garter. "Shit…"

That throaty chuckle nearly killed him. "D'you need some help?"

"These are from the devil."

"Watch." She made it look easy. A pinch, a push, and he was tugging stockings.

"Just stop wearing these okay?"

She arched when his fingers stroked bare thigh. "Ah! Okay…" Her knee was bent near his shoulder. He bit it. "Fuck, Kit!"

"That's the general idea." The other stocking could stay, he decided. Set to work on removing her plain white panties. "You know, for somebody who snaps at me for taking the lord's name in vain, you got a pretty dirty mouth on you."

"And you don't? Mmmmmm." His dirty mouth was on its way up her leg, nipping and licking on the way.

"You have no idea." Alma hated it. Grace loved it. Jude seemed simply comfortable with oral sex, and she was fire hot under his tongue. He delved. Flattened his tongue up her slit and flicked at her clit before laving it vigorously.

She hissed. Her hands tangled in his hair. "No, no, no, no, no…"

He looked up. "D'you want me to stop?"

"Not on ya life. I want you to watch. Yeah?"

"Yeah." Her fingers were beautiful disappearing into her folds. "Ohhh," he murmured. "I see."

"Not directly like that. See?" She pinched her clit under its little hood. "It's too much."

He nodded. "How about this?" Side to side, this time. He varied the pressure, the speed, and felt the reward slicking his thumbs.

"Yes!" Her fingers threatened to tear the quilt she clutched. "Oh, Kit Walker you're a fast learner."

"I pay attention." He went back to work, finding the rhythm that made her pant the most.

"Put your fingers in me, baby. I'll come for ya so fast. I need to."

She was as honest, as forward, as raw in bed as she was in their kitchen. She held nothing back and he expected no less. So refreshing to have a lover who communicated this way, unashamed, uninhibited. Maybe he was surprised, but not enough to hesitate. He fucked her with two fingers, long-stroking her slit and working her clit until she was true to her word.

Jude shattered when she came, thrusting against him, alternately begging and cursing Christ and the Virgin she once held most holy. Kit stilled. Let her ride out the pleasure. She gleamed with sweat, came to herself with a hand on his face. "That's...that's beautiful, baby."

Sweetly, like one would calm a restless filly, he stroked her thighs, up over her hips as he settled against her. Her thumb had slipped into his mouth and he bit at it. "I love when you call me baby."

"But no mommy issues," she rasped, hoarse.

He chuckled, kissing her. "No issues at all right now." His cock nudged her cunt. No pressure. "You all right, Jude?"

She took his face in both hands, made him meet her eyes intensely. "No turning back from this."

"I know."

"It changes everything."

"We're already changed."

She seemed to search his gaze, a few seconds to gauge his sincerity, his true feelings, and finding them genuine, slid her thighs up over his hips. "Then kiss me."

He did. Mindless as he slid inside her. As slowly as he could stand. It was her who broke the kiss, neck arcing like a possessed woman, a guttural groan. He answered with his own, burying his face in her neck and resisting the urge to bite, to thrust, to destroy her with this primal desire.

"Christ, you're tight as hell." Her legs wrapped his hips in response. She was quivering, clutching him as close as she could. "D'you know how long I've wanted these legs just like this, Jude?"

She shook her head, eyes slits. "Kit. Keep talking dirty and fuck me."

It was difficult, really, to thrust the way he wanted to. Her entire body held him like a straitjacket. But after a moment, her body relaxed, accepted his intrusion, and they began to move as one. "Sistah, you feel like Heaven." Kit whispered in her ear.

"Good," she whispered back. "Cuz we're gonna burn in hell for this. Ah!" He picked up the pace unexpectedly.

"I'm sorry, Jude." He took one of her arms from his neck, stretched it up until she took hold of a bed spindle. "Hold on for me."

"Yes!" She threw her other arm up, too, gripped spindles for dear life.

"I wanna come inside you." He gripped her head with one hand. "Look at me." She forced her eyes open. "Can I come in ya, Sistah?"

"God, Kit yes!"

"Come with me." She mewled, made to argue. His thumb stretched back to her mouth, into it. "Shhh. Don't scream til you come for me, Jude." But she was already tightening deliciously. He adjusted his angle up. Gripped her even harder. Bit her jaw as she bit his thumb. "Now, Judy. Now! Let me hear ya. Let me feel ya - Oh!"

She followed his instructions, head back, a wail to her savior (and whether that was the holy father or fork-tailed fucker below was entirely up for debate because Kit couldn't hear over the pounding relief in his own head). His last sloppy thrusts were accompanied by their helpless whimpers. He emptied his seed and his soul into the willing woman, peppering her face, her lips with soft kisses, almost apologizing for his animalism. She accepted his apologies with kisses of her own, absolution. Her face was wet with more than sweat. Kit wiped her cheeks with his thumbs, one of which was bleeding from her bite. His own fault. He pressed his forehead to hers. "God, Jude, that was…"

"Yeah." She agreed with his unspoken. "Kit."

"Mmm."

"Get off me."

"Oh." He rolled, taking her with him. His back immediately ached.

Jude stretched her legs out against him, sticky, and groaning with the muscle release. "I'm too old for that."

"Well, I'm too quick for it, so we're both gonna have to practice more."

"D'you realize you called me sistah while you fucked the shit outta me?"

"Did I?" He looked at her in genuine surprise. "Christ, Jude, I'm sorry. I don't know -"

She put her hand over his mouth. "It's fine. Kinda liked it." Laid her head on his chest.

He grinned. Rubbed her mussed hair. "Well. I assume you'd tell me if something bothered you. Or...didn't bother you."

"How are ya gonna get what ya want without asking for it?"

"Exactly." In that case… "Judy?"

"Hm?" She was drifting a little.

"Can this be us?"

Her fingers caressed his chest, the smattering of hair there, down to the hair above his groin. "For as long as I have, Kit...you can have me howeva ya want me."

And that was fine. He struggled with her bedding until they were settled under sheet and quilt.

He woke to the sound of birds. And soft sunlight streaming through sheer curtains. Idyllic. And he felt...sore as hell. His jaw ached. His back ached. One of his hips had a weird catch in it. He rubbed his eyes and grinned. He was alone in the bed. In _her_ bed.

From the kitchen, the sound of the little radio. He slid from the bed and glanced around the floor. "Where the fuck are my pants?" He thought he asked himself.

"Hung em in the bathroom!" She yelled from the kitchen.

"Oh." He had to pee anyway. His morning erection made this difficult, and he stood over the toilet for almost a solid minute. He glanced sidelong at his own reflection above the sink. A nice bruise was spreading along his swollen jaw and he remembered the barfight, laughing softly. Scratches wrapped over his shoulders and he remembered _after_ the barfight. "Holy hell," he whispered. They'd _really_ done that.

Washed his hands. Splash of water on his face. His pants were a touch too big now, hanging on his hips. He padded barefoot into the kitchen.

Jude was at the refrigerator, wearing one of his dress shirts and nothing else. Her legs were sublime in the fridge light. She pulled out the eggs. "Breakfast?"

"Of course breakfast." He watched her cook. She was softly singing along to The Crystals' _He's a Rebel_. "Jude."

"Hm?" She poured him orange juice, seeming perfectly composed. She'd obviously showered already and her hair was a little wet, natural curls beginning to take shape.

"I have to ask…" She went back to the stove, flipping an omelette expertly. "Where the hell does a nun learn to fuck like that?"

She paused, only a moment. Slipped an omelette onto a plate and set it before him. Hers was already cooling across from him. She sat, shirt revealing an over-average amount of thigh. She put her hands together before her face, as if to pray, and took a deep breath. Closed her eyes. "Kit. There's some things I should tell ya."

"Like what?"

"I'm scared you'll think less of me."

"Jude." He leveled. "I already went from thinking you were a goddamn psychotic to needing you in my life forever. There is no less, here."

"I wasn't always a nun."

"Nobody's a saint, Jude."

Her eyes opened suddenly and she stared at him. Hard. "I spent a lot of time to praying to Saint Jude in my life."

"Well. I don't believe in lost causes."

Her hands dropped into her lap. She looked for all the world like she was sitting in a confessional. Maybe in her mind, she was. "Once upon a time, I was a singer. In a jazz band. A lot like ya friend Tyler's."

Kit smiled. "That explains a whole hell of a lot."

She continued, not smiling, looking at her omelette. "I drank. A lot. Too much. I smoked reefer. I...I woke up under a lot of strange men. And...even with a few strange mens' wives."

"Oh." His brows rose. He could tell this troubled her. Immensely. Slid his chair beside her and took one of those penitent hands. "Jude. I don't care what you used to be. What you used to do. I don't care who you were at Briarcliff. I don't care who you were before it. Ya hear me?"

She pulled the hand away, used it to cover her face as she cried. "I don't deserve this, Kit. I don't deserve you! This life! Your babies, your forgiveness! What I did to you -"

"Was in the past." He insisted. He took the wet hand again. Kissed it. "It's called the past for a reason, Judy. We learn from it, and we move on. Into the present. And like it or not, this is ya present."

"It _is_ a present, Kit. It's a gift." She wiped at her sloppy face. "You don't know what you've given me. See, once… Once I was engaged. I was gonna get married. Have my own babies. Have a life like yours. Perfect, right?" He nodded and she shook her head. "He catted around. Like fucking men do. He - he gave me syphilis." She paused to let that sink in. Kit just waited. "I couldn't have those babies after that. Couldn't have that life. He called _me_ the whore! Blamed me. Kit." She squeezed his hand. "I swear to ya I didn't. I was a good girl! I wanted to be a good wife! I gave that fucker my virtue! I gave him everything. I'll always tell ya true. I promise."

"Jude, I believe you." And he did. With all his heart he believed the broken woman. With all his heart, he wanted to fix her. Erase that past. Prove that second chances were real. "You've always had ya convictions. Even when they were wrong. Ya followed your gut, your instinct."

"I was wrong about you, Kit."

"And you were wrong about him. It wasn't your fault, Jude. Hey." He nudged her chin up. There were sticky tears on it. "But you're right now. You're right loving my kids. And ya certainly don't have to. You're right letting me love you. And last night...that was right, wasn't it? Felt right to me."

She blushed through tears. "It was nice, yeah."

He laughed hard, wanting to hear her laugh, too. "Just nice?"

She swatted at him. Fighting the laugh now. "You're a regular Casanova. Bettah?"

"We can be happy, Jude. If ya let me make ya happy. It's so easy." She nodded. Collected herself. "Hell, I'll be honest." He chuffed. "If it was possible, I'd put a baby in ya." Finally, she laughed. It was a beautiful sound. "These two turned out alright," he continued. "One more would be great. I'd do it right now!"

She breathed deeply for a minute. "Right now?" She asked.

Kit licked his lips. Shoved her omelette over toward his own. "Right now." He stood, pulled her to her feet and backed her onto the table. She sat, startled. "Right here." He caressed her thighs until they opened for him, slipped open buttons on her (his) shirt. "I'll show ya." He kissed her deeply.

"Kit." She broke away. "We eat here!"

He was devouring her neck, working his way down. He pressed her back until she lay flat on the cool formica. "Jude! I _am_ eating here." Her confession was over. He absolved her while their breakfast cooled.

After cold eggs found them curled on the couch, ensconced in blanket. Tired. But not quite ready to not be touching each other somehow. "When are the babies coming home?"

Kit yawned. "Not until tomorrow afternoon."

"Tomorrow?!" She popped up from his chest.

"Yeah. Tomorrow."

"Huh." She re-settled. "So...we're gonna just stay naked all day? Like heathens?"

"It's like Adam and Eve in the garden." Kit laughed. "Besides. More convenient."

"I suppose." She sighed. "You sleepy?"

"A little. Why?"

She stretched, adjusting in their blanket wrap. "I think you've created a monster."

"Oh?" He watched quizzically until her head disappeared from view and she worked her way down his torso.

"Oh." And he discovered one more way Jude was exceptionally talented.

"It'll be good to have the babies home tomorrow." Her hair was tangled beyond any normal straightening. Rabid shanks of sweaty curls bobbed in her face with each rise and fall of her body.

"Yeah. I miss 'em, too. Mmmm." He stroked her thighs.

She sighed, a tinge of frustration. "Prop ya knee up for me, Kit."

He obeyed. Her hand wrapped around it, allowing her to shift her angle a bit to the left. "Fuck, yes. Thanks, baby. That's better." She hissed.

Kit smiled. He tried to stay still as she rode him, putting her entirely in charge of this particular coupling. It was nice to relax. He was pretty sure she'd ruined his back. Vaguely worried about work on Monday. Also…"Ya got gorgeous tits. You know that?" He cupped them. Slid one hand down to the juncture of their bodies, just barely brushing her clit with his thumb. She approved, automatically picking up her pace. "Judy."

"Hm?" Her head rolled on her shoulders. She was very distracted. Biting her lip. Close.

"D'you realize we have done nothing all day but have sex?"

"Best day evah." Her voice went thready. A small moan. He felt her tightening. "Shit, Kit, that's it. Christ!"

Watching her come was a genuine pleasure. And it brought his release closer. But as he'd grown his experience with his lover's body, he'd grown his stamina. Amazing what could be accomplished in one day, really…

Jude caught her breath. He watched her relax, propped his other knee for her to lean back. She slit-eyed him with coy grin. "Your turn."

"I got all night," he smiled.

"Mm-hm. We'll see." A pat to his knee and he lowered his legs. Smoothly, Jude turned, settling on her knees over his hips. Her cast-back invitation was nearly his undoing. "I don't think we've done this yet?"

He was quick to climb behind her. "You're gonna be the death of me." He slid inside her deeper this way, faster, and she fell forward on her elbows with a groan. "Ya might as well hold on again, Sistah."

Her hands wrapped the bed's foot rail. "Yes, sir." On his first thrust, a heavy gasp.

Kit paused, desperately trying to maintain control with a curvy ass and expanse of creamy back before him. "You'll tell me if I hurt ya."

She chuckled seductively. An over the shoulder glance. "I'm a tough cookie, baby. Fuck me like you want to."

He did. And she was, indeed, a tough cookie.

They crawled out of bed Sunday morning hung over from lust and looking like shit. Stared across the breakfast table at each other, empty and exhausted. Dehydrated. "Kids'll be home soon."

"Yeah." Jude sipped her coffee. "Kit. I don't want 'em to know. Or have any idea. About...you know...us. This."

His brow furrowed. "Why the hell not? I don't care if my kids know I -"

"You what?" She asked, a challenge.

He sighed. Best to get this conversation out of the way. "I love ya, Jude. I care about ya."

She pointed at him. "Exactly. You care about me, Kit. And I care about you. About those babies." She grabbed his hand, pulled it toward her. "We're not in love, Kit. I'm way too old for that. I can't be what ya need in that department."

His jaw tightened. "So this whole weekend meant nothin'? You think I just wanna fuck you, Jude? Because it's convenient?" He squeezed her hand. "Ya mean more to me than that."

"And I didn't say any of that." Her eyes were soft. "I haven't felt like this in a long time, Kit. And it's wonderful. And I'm goddamn crazy about ya. But those babies are too young to understand that we can have this kind of...understanding."

Kit scoffed, rolled his eyes. "So we're friends with benefits."

"I'd like to think we're better than friends."

He chewed at his lip, thinking. "So...what? Business as usual unless the kids aren't here? Like a couple shameful teenagers?"

"Like a father who's responsible for his children's well-being and the already confusing stranger who's come to live with 'em." She was insistent. "They already see me a certain kinda way, Kit. I don't want your babies messed up in the head."

He rubbed his face. "Jude. I want my kids to grow up seeing love. And even if we're not...in love, as you put it, I want them to see us happy."

"They do see us happy, Kit. Playin' our board games. Dancin' in the kitchen. Doin' dishes together. They see us happy. And they're happy, too. See what I'm sayin'? It's just a different kind of happy."

Kit softened. As usual, Jude's pragmatism reigned supreme. She was out to protect the babies. "I think I see."

"They call me Nana, Kit."

"I think that's sweet."

"Nanas don't do what we did last night."

He pursed his lips. "I guess I see ya point."

"I'm always right."

Thomas and Julia came home to cleaned up caretakers with immense excitement. "Dad! Look what I got!" Thomas brandished the Polaroid camera. "It makes pictures in seconds!"

"Where'd you get that?" Kit was already fiddling with the camera.

"He won it," Julia pouted. "For catching a gross, smelly pig! All I won was a balloon."

"I said I'd share!" Thomas defended.

"Thomas I'm disappointed you sacrificed your dignity for a piece of plastic." Jude chuckled. "But I'm glad you're sharing with your sistah."

"Are we gonna eat soon?" Julia asked, flinging arms around Jude's hips. "I'm starving."

"Didn't Mrs. Whaley feed you?" Kit asked.

"Her cooking's garbage."

"Thomas, that's not nice," Kit reprimanded.

But Jude spoiled, as usual. "Well, it's a good thing I've got a ham and cheese casserole in the oven. Since Mrs. Whaley cooks up hot trash." She laughed at Kit's discomfort.

"Yay!" The kids chorused. They ran outside with their new toy, keen to test it out on the flora and fauna.

Kit stared at Jude. "You encourage their bad behavior." He joked.

"And you encourage my bad behavior." She brushed purposefully against him as she sauntered to the kitchen. "They'll never go to sleep tonight, ya know. Too excited." She checked the casserole and Kit pressed against her rear.

"We'll wear 'em out with a dancing lesson after dinner."

"Good idea."

"Then I'll wear you out after they're worn out."

"Shhh." She put a hand over his mouth, checking the children were still outside. "I don't want to wake them up tonight. Or any night, Kit."

He sneaked a kiss, anyway. "Well, you'll just have to practice being a little more quiet, Sistah." Her lips curved in a smile. He followed the curve of her hip. Curved his fingers over hers and twirled her beneath his arm. "Could be fun."

She curved into his embrace, swinging away when Thomas and Julia burst through the back door. "Is it dancing time already?" Julia cried.

"We have ta start early tonight," Kit replied. "Jude and I practiced all weekend so we're ahead of the curve. Ya'll gotta catch up!"

"Not fair!" Thomas flicked on the radio while Kit took up his camera. The Ronettes blaired _Be My Baby._ The little family caught up to the curve...

September, 1973

So maybe he didn't give her _all_ the details, but it was enough to have Lana smiling. And maybe put a few tears in her eyes. "Kit. That's beautiful."

"I'm tellin' ya. She was somethin' else." They laid on the guest bed, facing each other on the pillows.

"I can't believe you were in a barfight."

"Right?" He laughed. "I _still_ haven't been back to the Hooch!"

"Probably for the best." Her eyelids were heavy. Kit took the hint, sliding off the bed, gathering boxes.

"I'll see you in the morning, Lana."

"Yep..." Sleep was quick and peaceful. Kit's house was quiet and full of a strange, welcoming energy. And the dream she had wasn't terribly surprising.

Dusky morning light. She was the first one awake, it seemed, but knew she wasn't. Odd, that. In the kitchen, a thin veil of smoke surrounded the woman at the table. Lana smiled. "Good morning." Made perfect sense.

"Morning." Jude exhaled a plume of the sweet smoke, flicked her cigarette in the copper ashtray. She looked like an angel in a white men's Oxford. Hell, maybe she was an angel. "I nevah got to apologize to you, Lana Banana. For all the hell I put ya through."

Lana pulled out the opposite chair. Took one of the cigarettes from the pack on the table. Jude lit it with a stylish flick of the Zippo. "You didn't need to. Your actions were apology enough. For me, and for Kit and the kids."

"I love them babies."

"I know." Lana leaned her head on her palm, staring openly. "I'm the one who needs to apologize, Jude. I didn't keep my promise to you. I didn't get you out of there."

"Ya tried. I had ta have my repentance, Lana."

Lana still felt the tug of guilt, but somehow a weight lifted. "Where are you now? I mean...I know this isn't real."

Jude shrugged, pretty lips curved a mysterious smile. "I get around."

"Does Kit see you this way?"

"He needs ta move on. Already has. He's happy."

"And you?"

"Oh, yes. I'm happy." Another flick. "What about you, Lana Banana?"

For some reason, she didn't feel able to lie to this particular apparition. Or maybe she needed something from it. So she didn't lie. "I still feel like I'm looking for something. Like...I have some kind of purpose I haven't fulfilled."

"Well, of course you, do." Jude leveled. "You got a loose end, mama."

Lana swallowed. This apparition knew secrets. "What do I do?"

"Nothin' ya can do. Not right now. Evil is out of your hands. But remember what I told you once?"

She did remember. "That if you look in the face of evil, evil looks back at you."

Jude pointed. "Exactly. Don't ya evah forget that. And when the time comes." She stubbed the cigarette. "You'll know what ta do."

Lana reached for Jude's hand on the table. It was warm. Felt real. Felt alive. "Will I have the strength to do it?"

Jude turned her palm up, squeezed the hand. "Ya already are, Lana Banana."

A door opened an Lana looked up sharply, felt fingers slip quick from beneath her own. Kit padded barefoot into the living room, grinning sleepily at her. Bed hair everywhere. "Damn early riser."

Her eyes flashed back to Jude...but Jude was gone. Just a swirl of smoke remained. Lana stared as Kit slipped into her deserted chair. He grabbed a cigarette. "Coffee?"

Lana blinked. She _was_ awake. The dusky morning light was real. And Kit was real. And the smoke was real. And the still smoldering butt in the ashtray was real. Lana felt a smile spread, a warmth in her chest.

"Yeah, Kit. Coffee."


End file.
